In Exchange For Having

You cross paths with a man in a woods on a search that he claims is for lost gold.
He's been told you can match this map to a point where a sycamore bends, then turn left beneath an old grey stone.
You see the tree, and the man; course, disheveled, a mess. He turns from left, goes on right and starts to scavenge.

In younger days I would help him, tell him right, or maybe dig, and upon success, take my leave.
I would walk the long path prided in knowing that my jaunt made someone richer for knowing.
But to be true I must tell you something deep would resent the dumb man, and my giving and knowing.

Today, I might well wait, see what happens, not to misdirect, but to meander on a chance for comfort (happiness).
No more that kid pleased by the memory of an old man who knows nothing of right or left, but sleeps well tonight.
But what voice tomorrow might I regret in passing? What’s left speaking which I tamp down in exchange for having?